


The Secret Keeper

by Phouxee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Deaths, Emotional Hurt, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Halloween Night, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Last night of freedom, M/M, POV, Self-Sacrifice, The Secret Keeper, Treason, jily, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-09 23:49:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18648610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phouxee/pseuds/Phouxee
Summary: The night in which James Potter and Lily Potter die. Sirius Black is coming to understand exactly what happened. It had been him all along and he hadn't been able to see it. He had played them all so well and now, what is left is only regret, hatred, sorrow and complete misery for all that are left behind.*this is heart breaking ... tread carefully and at your own risk!!!*





	1. Midnight terrors

Similar to some other nights he chatted briefly with James through their mirrors, said their good-night's and he went to the empty bed. Staying in hiding wasn’t something he enjoyed but Dumbledore’s orders had to be followed, he had to play the part. Stay hidden, keep safe, and don’t do anything stupid. Sirius had had his fair share of acting stupid, so stupid actually that now he was alone, angry, close to breaking down but James didn’t need any of that so when they talked he was always as cheerful as possible without it being obvious he was faking it. What could he do? Start whining about what he had turned his back on, start throwing accusations again and venomous words directed at the one he should have next to him in bed every night? Of course not! James didn’t need that.

Laying down he already dreaded the night. The nights were the worst and alcohol could not be the release he so desperately needed. Nothing could be. He needed to stay hidden. That was his part. Play your part and don’t give into the anger, the pain and the knife of treason that he bore in his back every second of every day. He’d been so blind and so trustworthy and now he was here. Alone and hurt and angry but he had to keep going. For James.

Tossing and turning, punching pillows and tugging at the comforter, he hated the night because he was alone when he didn’t want to be. He hated himself for wanting Remus next to him. He wanted to scream and shout and punch the walls but he’d already done that and it hadn’t helped. So he tossed and turned and waited for sleep to take him, begging it to come already and not allow his mind to go where it shouldn’t. Not to him.

After having spent the last couple of months of that lie that caressed him every night but that turned into the worst kind of pain he’d ever experienced, drunk, and the following weeks in much the same state, he knew he had to sober up. James needed him and he would never fail James. He’d die before that happened. The plan was set. He would be the bait and Peter would keep them safe as the real Secret Keeper. It was perfect but he couldn’t drink because they could come after him at any moment. That was the plan. He needed to be sober for when they did and they would. He needed to be able to fight them, to stop them, for James and to finally have the revenge he so desperately needed. He needed to look at Remus and for Remus to understand that this couldn’t be seen as a prank, that it wasn’t something they would get over. This was the end and he wanted Remus to see what he had done to all of them … to him. To see the pain he had caused and live with it for the rest of his days in Azkaban.

Turning over to the side of the bed that still had a whiff of something he could only describe as Remus, he looked at the clock and saw it was midnight. Midnight on Halloween. He needed to sleep and so he caved.

Sirius didn’t want to sleep on that side of the bed, he hated that side of the bed, he wanted it gone, with its smell and the comfort it gave him and the sick sense of belonging that should make his sick to his stomach. But that was just it. It didn’t. Remus had always been his comfort and so had been, and still was, his scent. Sirius caved and hugged that pillow that he never used anymore. As soon as he inhaled deeply that smell that he could only describe as Remus, that smell that he had tried to get rid of so many times so far, he hated himself.

He just couldn’t relax. He was restless and in pain and he just wanted someone to be there but he wouldn’t go to him. It was like his blood was boiling and his mind was killing itself. Sirius tried to shake it off but couldn’t. While trying to ease his heart beating he paid attention to his breathing, taking deep, long breaths to relax. Stood still for a little over 15 minutes and nothing changed. Throwing the pillow against the wall, he jumped up and went to the kitchen. Grabbing a glass of water Sirius drank it all in one gulp. It wasn’t alcohol but it should help. The sensation still hadn’t changed.

The mirror was in the bedroom and after retreating it, he called out to James. He knew he shouldn’t but he needed to talk to him, to anyone, he just couldn’t do it anymore. He hated himself and he hated Remus. He hated the war for having done this to them, for having turned Remus into this. James, just talking to James could ease his mind and stop him from doing something stupid or tell him to do something stupid. He just needed James to help him see reason. Of course James wasn’t happy with the fact that both Sirius and Remus were in pain. As always, fucking Switzerland. He’d always tried to calm Sirius, to tell him he was mistaken, to make him stop with the accusations because it was Moony. Sirius still made up his mind and suffered more than he had ever before because of it.

Almost a minute passed during which Sirius tried to relax his body and no answer came from the mirror. He was pacing now unable to stand still They’re probably asleep. he said to himself but the feeling wouldn’t go away. Defeated he put some clothes on and took his bike for a ride. The wind calmed him down and once he was off the ground the troubles seemed to leave him altogether. No more Remus on his mind. Fully awake as he was he decided to pay Peter a visit. Rattle the little twat a bit. Why should he be the only one awake at that hour? As he approached the street, Sirius lowered the motorcycle and turned the corner for Peter’s apartment block. The bike was parked on the side walk and he took the stairs by two’s to the third floor and banged his fist against the door wanting to scare him a bit just so that he could get out of his head. Just for a bit of fun. It wasn’t like Peter expected him at all and he was supposed to stay in hiding.

To his surprise the door was ajar and flew open against his fist. A part of him was amused by this but then it unsettled him. Looking around he saw nothing out of place. **”Peter!?”** Sirius took one step forward and lit his wand. Everything was in place, nothing tossed around, not even the napkins from the kitchen table. It was peculiar to say the least. Peter was intended to not leave the flat. Peter was supposed to stay put. Sirius would send his packages, food and all the necessities, making things disappear from his hiding place in order to feed and make sure that Peter had anything he could possibly need, just so that he wouldn’t leave the flat. And he wasn’t here.

At this point Sirius started to worry. Not so much for Peter but for James and Lily, and Harry. Walking in he took notice of all the things he could find, notes, letters, anything ... His last package was left unopened and that bothered him even more. That had been two days ago almost. Sirius went to the bedroom and it seemed like no one lived or had slept there recently. **”FUCK!!!!”** he turned around, ran downstairs, took his bike and was off towards James, disapparating in the middle of the London sky line and apparating just above the main street in Godric’s Hallow. With a loud thud the bike hit the pavement and turned the corner. Sirius lost control of the bike in front of the house which was still fuming.


	2. Feeling death

Panting, Sirius scraped his knee as the bike lost its balance at the strong curve, and once back on his feet he could feel his legs threatening to give in. The house was darkened and he could see part of the upstairs bedroom as the ceiling seemed to have been blasted off. For seconds which seemed like hours he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, eyes lost in the debris of his best friend’s hiding place. Everything was silent aside from a faint cry that he couldn’t hear just yet. A baby’s cry.

Sirius couldn’t understand, he couldn’t bring his mind around it. It seemed like a nightmare that he was sure he’d wake up from at any moment, a boggart having invaded his mind and bringing his worst fears into the light, making him believe it was real, playing with him.

Taking one step forward his legs still untrustworthy, but he had to move, he was to do something. If it was a dream he had to wake up, he had to jolt himself out of it. Numbness took hold of him as he couldn’t believe what lay before him, seemingly happening to someone else, but at the same time his heart seemed to stop and rage war against his chest. One leg in front of the other, advancing more confidently with every step, motorcycle forgotten in the middle of the street, Sirius made it inside the courtyard. With each step his thought process seemed to catch up and his lungs started working again. As he pushed the door open he could see but shadows all around him as he tried to depend on his memories of the place. The stairs were in front of him, the living room to his right, the kitchen across the hall.

The cry reached his ears and it had been like a light that gave him guidance in the darkness surrounding him. Sirius started for the stairs, but as he climbed he saw another shadow. Trying to see what was blocking his way, Sirius tried to move around it, but as he took another step he saw him. James. **”No … ”** it barely even came out as his stomach sank. Breathing rapidly his knees gave up and he fell at the motionless form of his best friend. Staring at the face that lost its grin and laughter, the eyes that lost their shine, Sirius was rooted on the spot. Tears were unable to fall as he felt unable to move. While he realized what had happened, his hand moved to the man’s chest, even if he knew there was no reason to. The look on James’s face told him what he needed to know. Still he hoped that it was fake, hoped it was a lie, a prank, anything but the truth. There was no movement to greet him however and his vision became blurred.

Wishing against reason that the young man would jump up, doubling over in laughter at his face, Sirius’s hand was still on his chest as tears began to roll down his cheeks to his disregard. He just couldn’t feel them. As he barely saw anything with moisture obscuring his vision he lit his wand thinking only of helping him see. The light rested on James’s still form and then it hit him, really hit him and it came with a bang. His throat was clogged and it became difficult to breath, he stood up leaning against the wall at looked at his best friends as he lay at his feet. One would think he fell and hit his head if it weren’t for his eyes. There was no wand anywhere near the form, no sign of struggle, nothing to suggest a fight.

There was another cry that made its way to his eardrums and it brought him to his senses. Taking one last look at James he climbed the stairs past him, aching with every step he took like he was physically breaking an invisible bond that shouldn’t have been broken. It ripped and tore him apart but that cry was beckoning him to move. A promise that would mend the tears in his heart and would heal the rip in the bond. A promise that he had to keep even if he couldn’t understand how and why he was hearing a child cry if the father was dead.

Taking one step in the nursery, there came the second blow. Not as hard but giving him just as much pain. The red tempered woman that had been his friend’s most ardent passion, the one woman that managed to capture the heart of the only person he had really seen as a brother, the girl who took on the challenge of putting up with all of them and came out better at the end, and made James become the best version of himself that he could possibly be. Lily Potter was next to her baby’s crib, seemingly still protecting him as she had done since she became a mother. A mother like he had never known, exceeding in devotion and care, any expectations. Her green eyes were wide in shock, as were James’s, as she made a physical boundary, even breathlessly as she was, around the crib.

Justice seemed to have turned blind towards them as their one year old son had been left sobbing in his crib, holding onto a stuffed owl and with a scar on his forehead. Sirius went to him and wasted no second before carefully taking him into his arms, with a blanket around as the chill of the October night was no longer stopped by the ceiling and part of the wall. Cradling Harry in his arms, Sirius tried to sooth his godson, rocking him slightly as he looked around. As silence befell the partly destroyed house, he tried to understand who it had all been possible. The betrayal was obvious and he’d have to deal with that soon enough, but as he looked at the boy with a lightning shaped scar he couldn’t comprehend how could a baby still be alive in the wake of a house almost completely demolished and both parents dead?

Prophesy or not, an explanation had to be. Power coupled with rage could give out huge burst of magic but could it have been as powerful as to destroy the darkest wizards known to the magical world?! And coming from a baby nonetheless. Harry was whimpering again and Sirius started to move around. He moved past Lily unable to look at her again as the pain became unbearable. Reasoning caught up with him and he knew who was to blame. How could he dare look at her again knowing that he broke his promise to her, knowing that he brought about all of this? It became necessary to leave the room and so he went into their bedroom.

Sirius sat down on their bed and hoped, prayed, wished to whoever was listening or was aware of his thoughts for it all to end, for him to wake up in his bed, turn to the side, kiss Remus and know it was all a dream. It didn’t happen however, he wasn’t waking up. It wasn’t a dream and he couldn’t make it one no matter how much he needed it. In complete silence, as Harry was now asleep, safely tucked in a blanket in his Godfather’s arms, Sirius broke as he grabbed an old mirror from the nightstand. Without sobbing, not even crying, tears ran down his cheeks and he just existed in that moment of numbness, the realization of his life coming to an abrupt halt took over him. What could he live for now that everything he cared for, more than he even cared for himself, was gone? Why bother fighting if life as he knew it was over? While he had reasons, one important reason that he wished still meant something, none seemed powerful enough as the pain was unbearable and the thought of living in a world without so much of what he loved was something he couldn’t bring himself to imagine. Harry moved into his arms and his eyes rested on the cruelty of life as the baby opened his eyes and they were green, but his hair was jet black and already sticking up at odd ends. A smile captured his lips for the briefest of seconds as he stood up and started his way out of the house.

There was a noise outside, and within a second, Harry was in his left arm, while he pocketed the mirror, his hand grabbed his wand and he was engulfed in darkness again. Heavy steps could be heard on the porch and large sobs, but Sirius didn’t move into the light. Ever so careful, he looked down stairs, trying to ignore the shadow that was where he had left it. He couldn’t tell, nor could he see. With no more time to waste, he raised his wand and aimed it at the unknown intruder ready to fight as anger started to bottle up inside him, soon needing to be released.

It was Hagrid. Huge and half giant, he stood at the bottom of the stairs and his shoulders were shaking in distress. **”No’em … why ‘em?”** Sirius lowered his wand, brushing the hair off his face as tears made it cling to his skin. Looking back at James, his neck constricted again, but this time he fought it back. **”I’m on it mate, I’ll make this right!”** he promised with a last goodbye as he averted his eyes for the last time from his best friend.

Hagrid didn’t hear it and Sirius barely heard him as he walked down stairs holding onto to Harry **”Mister Dumbledore tol’ me … coun’t belief me ears. ”** Sirius moved past him and into the cold night air. **”He sent me for him. Wants him. Dumbledore said to bring Harry to him.”** Hagrid was moving in front of Sirius now which got his attention.

 **”What do you mean … ? I’m his Godfather!”** his hand tightened around his wand. Hagrid was moving into a dangerous line as he had no intentions to hand over Harry, be it to Hagrid or even to Dumbledore himself. **”James wanted … ”** his voice gave in. Clearing his throat and through clenched teeth he continued **”… wanted Harry to be with me if … in case something …”** how many times had he told James that it wouldn’t happen? How many times had he told him that he’ll never get the chance to be Harry’s guardian … reassured him, promised him … vowed on his life that it wouldn’t be the case. And here he was. A twenty-one year old man, not ready to be a man yet, not ready to take this kind of responsibility but he had promised and that was a promise that he’d keep, even if it meant going up against a half-giant. Wand aimed at Hagrid again **”James left him with me!”** tears were rolling down his face again **”He chose me … Dumbledore himself couldn’t take him from me so don’t get any ideas Hagrid, don’t make me do this ‘cause I don’t want to, but by Merlin’s beard I will!”**

While his wand was still inches away from Hagrid’s face, the huge man looked down at him and there was no fear or worry plaguing it. Sirius looked up at him and as he saw the sympathy and comfort in those eyes, his whole body gave up the fight. He fell to his knees sobbing, shoulders shaking and breath trembling as his pain took hold of him completely. No longer going through the motions and pushing his agony to the side, it engulfed him entirely and when Hagrid carefully took Harry from his arms, he couldn’t even put up a fight, couldn’t bare raising his head. They stood there as Sirius wept, Hagrid was holding Harry and comforting Sirius who caved and felt like falling to the end of the world.


	3. Wand trained

It took him several minutes to calm down and while still panting, grief took the bench as anger started to control him. Sirius stood up with tears still lingering in his eyes and could see Harry lightly asleep in Hagrid’s arms. The last focused gaze from him had landed on Harry as he kissed the baby’s forehead careful not to wake him up before tugging one of his arms underneath the blanket. The numbness still held him and he turned towards the bike without another word. Without mounting it, he pulled it up, checked to see if it was okay and pushed it towards Hagrid. **”Take it! I won’t be needing it anymore and I think you could use it. It’s cold and …”** his eyes were looking at the bike as his hand cleaned the seat. **”He shouldn’t be out in this temperature for long.”**

With one last shake of his head he turned without hearing Hagrid’s protests, he just walked, he needed to walk, for this the bike would hinder him and apparating would make it impossible for he didn’t know which way to go, where to look. But he could know. As he turned around the corner, he listened carefully for a few seconds, without even bothering to look around, he sniffed deeply and as his head went higher to catch the scent that he was looking for, he turned into a big black dog with hair sticking up at all ends. His back hair was raised on his spine and the scent was stronger. Peter had been here, the miserable toe-rag had had the spine to come, to look, to witness it.

Sprinting with only one thought guiding him and the image of Peter locked in his mind’s eye he minded no passersby, jumped over whatever would obstruct his stride and went off into the early, but still rather dark morning; he came to an abrupt halt not even outside of the Village. The scent had been so strong and now it was gone, completely. Growling in anger and frustration, Sirius stood up once more as a man, jaw set tight, eyes burning and menace written all over his features. Where could have the rat hidden? Into which hole did he stuff himself? And why was his scent … Apparating. The asshole Apparated … but where? Well, the smart thing would have been to act the part, or run, for either he could bet the rag-tail would go to his flat. Without a second movement, the man was gone from the little Village.

Sirius didn’t care for appearances anymore or the statute of bloody secrecy. All he knew was that he had to find him, and find him fast. Daylight was creeping on the streets of London as he materialized in front of the Rat’s apartment block, right besides a muggle woman who looked at him for a few seconds, at the rage in his eyes, determination driven by the anger of a mad man, then started screaming as, without thinking of the implications, he turned back into a dog and ran across the street, causing two cars to hit and a biker to fall off as he served to not hit a crazy dog roaming the streets. He had the scent again and he started running for it. It was early in the morning and muggles were going to work so the streets were well packed. The evening’s news paper would write about the dangers of stray dogs, as he tore through coffee shop terraces and a small muggle market in Camden, jumping over customers as the smell of treason guided him. Fear was also easy to sense and there was plenty of that, which only made the hunt easier.

The smell intensified with every mile he ran and he jumped over the pain in his lungs, kicked back at his tired feet as the ache that tore through his entire body gave him more than enough adrenaline to push through. Just getting missed by a car close to King’s Cross, Sirius still in dog form, lost the scent for a second as the London air was filled with smells of cars riding by, lots of people and plenty of foods, and while trying to find it, as he sniffed around Euston Road for a couple of minutes, adrenaline started to die down while fatigue started to get to him. A man approached him and tried to grab at him. There weren’t many strays in London which was why he didn’t run around often. Growling at the man, the dog was preparing to pounce when his nose caught the too well known stench of fear that had guided him previously. Turning on its heel, the dog was running again, despite his tired feet or the trouble of every breath. Passing Regent’s Park and turning towards Soho, he thought he was going mad as running around a block didn’t seem right but the smell led him to Hyde Park. Stopping only for a second to drink some water, he started back up after a few gulps and found himself catching speed as he advanced towards Fulham. The idiot went to Remus?! Were they both in on it?! The scent became clearer and it was easier to track. Sirius knew that the human waste was close without yet seeing him, so he slowly eased his pace as he reached Fulham Road.

Taking it easy, his temperament urged him to keep going but he had only one chance to give the scum what he deserved. Sirius took shelter under every bush or lowered branch, every parked car was his cover as he advanced slowly until he was close enough to see Pettigrew. Shaking all over, his temper became impossible to hold back any longer. The street was packed with muggles and they were obstructing his vision from a canine’s point of view as he made his way towards the man who was still advancing towards Elm Park Gardens. Sirius turned back into himself amidst all those muggles, in order to see him better. Eyes fixed on the form of the follower, the tag-along, the shadow of their youth.

 **”PETER!!!”** the bark came through ringing louder than all the ushering and running around of the muggles and all eyes turned to the dark haired man that stood tall and his extended arm with a … was it a drumstick, aimed at someone in the crowd. There were stains all over his face, dust all over his clothes, rips in his jeans and an expression that terrified most of them.

Taking one steady step after the other, Sirius advanced carefully as to not give him even the slightest chance to escape, eyes never leaving Peter, not even blinking. People around him would take a step back, some kept going, others stayed and one came to him. **”You okay, mate?”** but Sirius paid no mind to the muggle who came closer and kept advancing as his own feet were closing in the gap between him and Peter, who was now facing him.

 **”Will be in a bit. Don’t move any closer!”** he spat at the muggle his eyes never leaving Peter who just looked back at him and he could see, smell, sense the fear pouring out of every cell in the rat’s body. Sirius couldn’t see a wand but he needed but one sign of Peter grabbing for it, one movement in the wrong direction. He couldn’t see one hand as it was tucked behind him. The right hand.

Still more than fifteen yards away from him, eyes darkened as he locked his aim, features making him resemble his family more than ever, Sirius was just about to say the words he had never used for a spell before in his life. He knew them, had heard them more times than he wished and knew what they did and the determination needed to use them, to make them work. With clenched jaw he hardened the grip on his wand and with all the hatred and anger he could muster he was ready to speak them. With the pain still eating at him and the loss he had felt giving him the necessary strength to do something that he had never wished to, knowing what it meant, knowing what it would do to him, he was intent to finish it. For James … For Lily … For the life that Harry will no longer have because of this vermin that was trembling in front of him. Sirius Black, Godfather of Harry Potter, best friend of James Potter, opened his mouth and welcomed his faith.

 **”James and Lily! Sirius how could you?!”** words heard by everyone within hearing distance. Words that reached Sirius and pushed him to complete his task, to make James proud, to avenge the life that he will no longer have.

Sirius arched his arm back ready to release those two words as the whole street blew up.


	4. Madness comes

The force of the spell threw him on the ground and Sirius fell on his back several yards away from where he had been. Hurriedly he snapped out of the shock and got back to his feet wanting nothing to stop him. He was ready to commit murder and did not care for the consequences.

Havoc was all around him as his eyes searched the rubble. There were bodies, dead, unmoving and broken bodies, of muggles in a perimeter around where Peter had stood, but in that spot there was only a massive hole as if the street had been blow up by a bomb. A crater was formed on the exact spot where Peter had been, wider than a car and deep into the ground as sewers could be seen at the bottom of the hole. Sirius moved forward just as some muggles that had been further away from the blast got back to their senses and feet. Still enraged he looked down into the hole searching for the traitor but found nothing but parts of human remains that even in his anger he could connect to the muggles around and none to Peter. The movement in his chest changed from that of rapid breathing from the rage, the blast and the desperate need to find a release of all of it, to an uncontrollable shake of laughter. The idiot had blasted himself off?!

The silence that covered the whole street was now traumatized by his bark like loud laughter that traveled in the stillness of the surrounding area. Having wished to kill him, planning to kill him, having accepted that by doing that he would probably end up rotting in prison, Sirius was angry that he hadn’t gotten the chance, the pleasure to do it. The burden to fulfill what was his damnation to do should have given him the much needed resolution. Still, the rat was dead. There was no sign that he could see of the young man and Sirius roared in laughter at the idiot’s stupidity.

Beaten to the punch, Sirius still reached his desired end result but he found it hilarious and couldn’t stop laughing. Muggles from across the street thought him mad, dangerous and diseased, not one stepping towards him, not one thinking to check and see if he was okay. The mad, dangerous and diseased man was laughing after having murdered so many people. They couldn’t believe their eyes.

The traitor was dead and still he laughed. The one that was at fault was dead and his maniacal laugh was the only thing heard as morning settled on the destroyed street of London. The only man who knew the truth wasn’t even dismembered in the rubble. He was entirely gone. The one man that could be forced to tell the truth, the one man that could ensure Sirius’s future and not the impending life sentence in Azkaban, the only man that had the power to admit to having betrayed James and Lily was dead. Killed himself. Gone. If possible, Sirius laughter turned more maniacal, louder but there were also tears running down his cheeks as he understood what had happened and how it will affect him.

Falling to his knees, right by the side of the crater, in the midst of his hysteria it tortured him. Realizing what it all meant, what it will do to him, what he had done to himself, it burned his insides and he laughed because it was brilliant and he had been outwitted by a garbage of a slippery rodent. Peter had planned this, he had strategized the whole thing. Probably even planned for Sirius to go after him, possibly even wished it to happen. What else could he have done once Voldemort was destroyed? Pettigrew wasn’t a beginner of betrayal as leaked intelligence had managed to reach Voldemort for over a year and he had them all fooled. McKinnons, the Prewett twins and so many others, gone on Order missions that only the Order knew about, found their end at the hands of Death Eaters and the information could only have been transmitted by someone from the Order. For so long he had done this and managed to not get caught, succeeded where Sirius hadn’t considered him able or capable to even plot such a remarkable treason, much less follow through with it. The vermin, the rat had played all of them and managed to even play him, even now. And he was here, he would be charged with everything and there wasn’t anyone left alive to be able to say different.

The Order knew him as their Secret Keeper. Dumbledore was convinced by him that he was the best option for that position. Remus was against it, fighting him for over four months now, since then believing him the traitor. Remus … Remus knew nothing of the switch. Remus couldn’t have been trusted with the switch, James pleaded that he tell him but Sirius made James not say a word. Remus would think him the traitor. Remus who he had pushed away, who he had accused and tormented and fought with because, because he’d been blinded. Remus who was … Remus who had been his everything, his goodness and the best part of his darkest outbursts. Sirius was laughing because he had been so stupid to think Remus a traitor, keeping the switch from him, keeping so much from him and now, here he was.

Telling no one had been the only viable option as knowledge was a double sided blade in a war, keeping the burden of this secret only on his shoulders, never lending it to anyone. Sirius laughed because he had wished for the only man that could free him to die by his wand. He laughed because not once had he considered handing him over to the Auror’s, not once had he considered to cast a binding spell. He had aimed to kill. And now, the one man that could liberate him of his doomed future was dead.

Features twisted with rage, laughter and sorrow, he was laughing distraught as tears pore down his face and the far-ranging spread of the mouth gave life to barks of laughter and sobs. His body ached, from the chase, from the laughter, from the pain, and so did his head, from the crying and the torture, but there wasn’t a thing that he could do to stop it. Sirius couldn’t think of anything else and it plagued his mind. Unaware of what was happening around him, blind to all the muggles that looked at him in horror, deaf to the yells that echoed from cloaked people who were approaching him with wands aimed at his chest. Insanity took him in the midst of his suffering and tortured mind, there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop his crazy display of rage and pain.

Sirius Black couldn’t see them, he couldn’t hear them over his own laughter, couldn’t feel their rage and terror through his pain and sorrow. It consumed him, knowing that he had brought about all of this, knowing that if it wouldn’t have been for him, James would still be alive, being completely aware that if he wouldn’t have ever met, befriended, bonded, became a brother to James, then James would still be alive. James would still be alive if he hadn’t ever been born. All his life he had wished away, wished none of it had happened, wished James to have picked another compartment, wished to have been placed into Slytherin. He wished any and all connections, memories and ties to the man that was more than a soul mate to him, more than a brother, to not have happened, because all of it had brought him to this moment, the moment that he wished he had died before ever being alive.

All the joy in his life had been because of that man, the man that taught him how to care, how to live freely and beyond any and all boundaries, the man who believed in him when no one else did, the one that laughed away his prejudiced family, brushed off his upbringing and saw him as he was, the man that gave him a chance when everyone turned their backs and when he didn’t want anyone to be by his side, James stayed and did not falter even when Sirius gave him all the reasons to turn his back. James made him be better than he thought he could ever be, inspired him to become the man that he was, saw the best in him even when all Sirius could see was darkness. James knew him better than he knew himself, he was the one person who accepted him and had faith in the best of what Sirius was, before anyone else did and when no one else would.

Forced to the ground, there were hands pinning him down as his face was smashed into the rubble and he took a mouthful of dirt and blasted cement while breathing in, in the agony of laughter and sobs that were still condemning him.


	5. Trialed

They were pulling him up, they were handling him with abrupt pulls and yanking him up. His hands were tightly secured behind his back and as soon as his feet were planted into the ground again, there was a wand trained on his jugular. Head pulled back as his hair was used as a handle. Sirius couldn’t think of the pain of that, or of his hair, or of being handled in such a brutal manner. He couldn’t really see who was around him because he couldn’t focus on it. They were talking, to each other or to him, the words failed to register but they were loud, almost like a yell or just trying to make the information sink deeper by rising one’s tone of voice. None of that registered with him and he was being surrounded only seen by the cloaked ministry men, hidden by them from all the muggles.

The pull was familiar, side-along apparition being a common means of transportation during Order missions. The Atrium was packed and there were some yells as they emerged from the fireplace. People being told to keep away, to not approach, as he was being taken, head held back by his hair, hands tied behind his back, he had no idea if either of the men holding him had grabbed his wand, being pushed or shoved as his legs were barely holding him up anymore.

Apparition was impossible within the Ministry so they had to walk. The elevator ride had been casual enough. The courtroom itself was empty when he was motioned through the door. The spot in the middle was waiting for him.

Throughout their little excursion Sirius didn’t speak a word, whether he’d been asked a question or accused of something, he didn’t utter a syllable because he was so lost in his own mind that nothing seemed to register. Laughter bursts came and went, on and off, tears rolled down his cheeks and into his beard more accidental than before, he was numb in a way that did not affect his body, that was shaking and hurting all over. His mind was numb, baffled by what he knew and the acceptance of what would follow.

It had been almost easy to settle him in that spot and lock the restraining cage door on him. The screws were screwed in, a breath away from his flesh, touching if he so much as breathed. It didn’t bother him as he could finally rest his feet a little. He was still standing but he could lean on the screws that dug in his back now. He couldn’t feel the puncture of skin or blood dripping and it probably wasn’t even happening.

Suddenly, there was silence as the door locked behind his capturers, leaving him alone in the courtroom. It was dark, barely any light in the room but for a few candles that were on the main pupitre, and the temperature was a bit lower than it normally should be.

Sirius was breathing steadily, silent himself at last. His gaze unfocused, his cheeks stained with tears and dust, his clothes looking rugged and unkept, his hair a mess. If Remus would see him now, what would he say? Would he even look at him? The betrayal was reason enough to not want to look at him, but asides from that, if Remus walked in, would he look at the man he had became with the same look that he’d given him a few months ago? Was there anything of that left in him so that he could inspire that look in Remus ever again?

This trail of thoughts had him laughing again. Caring for looks and whether Remus would still want him anymore. He was going to go to Azkaban for life most likely and he was thinking of spending one more moment and seeing Remus?! It all felt ridiculous and he was laughing again, like a maniac because he was going to be sent to Azkaban, or maybe even killed. The thought of being kissed by a Dementor made him think of Remus again and his innocent ideas had his back pushing against the screws in his hysteria of laughter. Those soft lips that he'll never feel again, never see them thin slightly when he smiled, never see the light quirk on the left side of the lip, an old scar, that just gave him something that no one else had, something that probably most people didn't even distinguished, but Sirius had seen it and he'll never see it again.

The door swung open and people were walking in. Some were moving directly to their seats, others hanged back for a moment to take a look at the man before them, at his insanity, at his torment and sorrow and pain, but they couldn’t see those as insanity just covered them all in thick layers as his laughter did not stop. There were tears running down his cheeks again, he started to shake the cage and some reacted by taking a step back, but he just couldn’t take the pain anymore. To know what he had done, to know what had gotten him here, to know how he wronged Remus and to absolutely and unequivocally know that Remus would not be there to save him, to know that he had no one to believe his story, to know that he was doomed and that it was all his own fault.

They were dead and he would carry that for the rest of his life.

The room was starting to fill up, or as fill as it was going to get because the crowds were thinning and people were settling into their seats. The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement took his seat and the room fell silent once more.

 **“Session of the first of November commences.”** the voice echoes through the basement like courtroom. Barty Crouch Sr. stood tall behind the pupitre and looked directly at the man who was still snickering, almost like he was trying to get a grip of himself but failing entirely. **“Offenses committed under the Decree for Magical Rights by Sirius Orion Black, resident at number twenty-seven, Romilly Street, London. You are on trial for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and twelve muggles by use of Blasting Curse, betrayal of James Potter and Lily Potter by giving information to Voldemort about their whereabouts, and services to the Dark Lord.”** the voice came with a finality that warranted no response from him. Not that he could give any. **"A finger was all that we could find of Pettigrew."** that was welcomed by another outrage of laughter.

While the charges had been summarised he started laughing maniacally again. Murder, betrayal, service, they were all words that those who knew him knew to not associate him with because he was nothing like that. But the question was, who could say now that they knew him. His eyes were looking around the room, not really searching for something, but for a lack of a better activity. Looking at Crouch wasn’t something any sane person would do if one wasn’t physically forced to.

Barking laughter started again at the idea of even thinking of looking at Crouch. He was on bloody trial and the nonsense that were running around in his mind had no logic. He should defend himself, fight for his freedom, try bargaining if nothing else worked, anything except for what he was doing now. Laughing wouldn’t help but the thought of defending himself … to which goal, for what purpose. He was doomed and nothing could undoom him.

Eyes rested on a form in the crowd, a silver beard, half-moon spectacles. There was no sparkle in those eyes. Dumbledore looked at him like he was looking through him. Like he was looking in his very soul but seeing nothing but darkness. There was nothing but darkness in there and he knew it as well as the man who’s eyes bore into his soul. **”I did it.”** he yelled through the fits of echoing outbursts of tears and howling barks that escaped him. **”It was me … ask Dumbledore, he knows.”**


	6. Within Madness

There was a low murmur in the courtroom as Sirius started to shake the cage which held him locked. He wasn’t trying to break free or open them and attack his accusers, he was just trying to stop the pain. Have him killed, have him sent to Azkaban, anything only so that the pain would go away. The screws were hurting at his hands and arms as he grabbed for the bars, and there were scratches on his face, light ones from having been engraved by the pointy ends of the screws, or were they spikes. Everything hurt, but that didn’t registered. 

Over all of that he only managed to hear that Peter was dead, along with a dozen other muggles and that he was found guilty for that, along with the betrayal of James and Lily Potter to Voldemort. Sirius wanted to tell them, wanted to explain everything that had happened, but no one seemed to care. Wanted to tell them all that he needed a minute, that he needed a second to get himself together but everything inside him seemed to scream and that had been the only thing that came out of him; sobs, laughter and screams of utter rage, but no one wanted to listen.

Then he tried to speak but he didn’t manage to say anything. He was innocent and nobody cared. His eyes searched for Dumbledore again between tears and hysterical explosions of laughter, finding him and being greeted by a vacant expression, cold and freed of any emotion but hurt. Moody, on the old Headmaster right, was glaring at him and Sirius just shouted at the top of his lungs because this wasn’t fair. He wanted to tell them, at least them. People needed to know what had happened, what really happened, what he had done, yes, but why he did it, how it actually happened. His laughter only intensified and he shouted thought sobs of despair **”I did it.”** before he resumed his maddening roaring of laughter not caring about the knives that cut into his cheeks and everywhere else as they dug in his body as the pain he felt inside made those as tender as a hand caressing him. **”You have to know that, you have to know why!”**

The gavel was hitting the wooden pupiter with enough force to cover his cries. **”You don’t deny it, do you?”** Crouch shouted over the gavel and over his scream. All eyes were looked on him and it didn’t feel like it had felt during his school years. Back then people would look at him in awe admiration, sometimes even infatuation, more often than not, with mirth. Now, in every pair of eyes there was disgust and hatred,and he couldn’t stop laughing and screaming. **”Order I said … you admit to it?!”** the voice rang loud across the courtroom.

 **”I do!”** his last words, last comprehensible words that would be heard by Dumbledore and Moody and Crouch for the rest of his life were his own burial. Sirius couldn’t reason with his mouth to follow up with explanations, with the reasoning behind it all, with the bloody truth that only he knew and that only he could provide. He couldn’t think of suggesting the Reverse Spell or Veritaserum or a blasted Pensive to get them to know the truth because he knew that no one would provide it to him. He knew there was no point as every testimony, evidence or plot scenario that everyone else could easily provide were against him, and would surely overcome any form of revealing the truth by him. 

**”I hereby sentence you to life in Azkaban.”**

Those words were barely registered because he knew to expect them already, when he started laughing and screaming and completely losing every ounce of control. They needed to know, someone would side with him, someone would accept his truth. Remus would try to find pardon into all of this, he would find a way to release him, Remus would come to him and he would be given the truth. Remus had to know the truth. Everything that they had been through, all those years of being almost too close for two friends during school, all those nights where they had found comfort in each other, all those moments where Remus had had every reason to turn his back, to walk away, to push him aside and never let him back in, all that had to count for something. All of that could not be brushed away by this.

Having accused him for months of having done exactly what he was being convicted for, having had every reason to think him the traitor. The missions that always ran longer than they should, the secrets that made trust a big problem, his temper that would bark at Remus for the smallest thing possible, but even then, Sirius could not stop loving him. It was worse because of it, because a part of him wanted Remus to come clean, to admit to it, just so that he’ll know where to stand. Even after they broke up, after that last fight, after being certain that Remus was the traitor, Sirius still wanted him, still had to fight to not just show up on his doorstep and forget the war. For Remus, he would have dropped everything, for Remus he would have turn the tides, but for James he had pushed him away and it hurt him more than he had ever expected it to. And now he, he was still paying for it and will surely pay for it for the rest of his life. Azkaban would provide that to him.

That was nothing compared to this, compared to knowing what he did, knowing that he was guilty, knowing that if it wouldn’t have been for him James would still be alive and Harry would still have the perfect live he should have had, knowing that he took a happy childhood away from Harry considering the childhood he himself had. Knowing that Remus would not come to his rescue and also knowing that Remus would hate him for the rest of his life.

Dumbledore had seen the darkness inside of him and knew how to harness it for their own agenda. There was a war and few people really understood what it stood for and what it would be like if they lost, few people understood what needed to be done because few people understood what they were really standing up to, what they were seriously facing. Sirius grew up in it and he knew what they were capable to do in order to achieve their goal. They had done it to their own son, a complete stranger meant nothing for them. Sirius also was equipped with the skill sets necessary for that particular job as he was the only tainted one, the one with the dark past that provided him with the mindset necessary for what was needed to be done.

Sirius was the dark weapon Dumbledore could use. He wasn’t alone but he was the youngest. For him it didn’t matter as long as Remus wouldn’t have to do it himself, or James. They were both innocent and they didn’t need that on their conscience. For him, there wasn’t much that could tear at his conscience because his conscience wasn’t unharmed. His childhood did that, his Hogwarts years, he was damaged goods from the start and Dumbledore knew that when he had started. Dumbledore knew it now when the door of the trap was opening up and as Sirius started to viciously fight to be left alone, to be released. A stunning spell hit him right across the chest and his eyes were locked on Dumbledore as wizards were moving him out of the room and into a carriage. 

They couldn’t Apparate from within the Ministry or inside Azkaban. A swift ride in the carriage pulled by four thestrals, away from muggle eyes in the middle of the London late morning air. There were three wands trained on him although out the ride, one to his face, another to his throat, the last to his heart. His hands were tied in front of him, mouth sewed shut, his body immobilized. He was silent at last, his eyes however were speaking volumes. Tears were running freely down his cheeks, but he wasn’t afraid, he was angry, mad, wanted to scream and shout and trash the carriage with everything inside it. This couldn’t be really happening?! He wasn’t being taken to Azkaban?! James wasn’t really dead?! He’d wake up next to Remus in a few seconds and they’d fuck and he’d be happy in his arms and it would all be a bad dream that he’ll forget in moments after waking up.

But the carriage continued to advance. Sirius had no idea if it had been minutes, hours, but they had reached their destination. He was taken out of the carriage and Azkaban loomed tall before him. Dark, cold, but not silent as screams could be heard from inside it’s walls already. Sirius hadn’t been to Azkaban before, but he knew what to expect. He had expected a resort compared to what it was in reality. Whatever expectations he had had, the truth was ghastly, horrific and the screams didn’t stop. 

Doors opened and he was pushed inside. It was almost like he lost his conscious from that moment on because everything seemed to feel differently while within the walls of the prison. Everything turned cold and the wardens were harsh with him, uncaring that they might hurt him or make him feel uncomfortable. It was like being stripped of his life, his feelings, his thoughts, but they were only taking his clothes off. They were in a small room with two doors, one to the back, they had used that to get in, and the one on the left. There was nothing on the floor or walls and his jacket, his shirt, his jeans, his pants and boots were all discarded and taken off his persona by those wardens. He had tried to do it himself, but at the first sign of free will, he’d been hit in the side of his left knee and almost fell to the floor. So he stayed unmoved, as much as he could. 

When the hands were off his frame, he’d turn his head to try and see what was happening. Another blow to the head. Striped pants and buttoned up shirt were laid on the floor a few feet away from him and he was pushed through the door on left. There was only a shower there in the middle of the room. The water ran cold and he couldn’t move away from it as it poured down from the ceiling and the room wasn’t big. There was no escaping the cold water. He wasn’t alone either as hand were rubbing a stench of a soap in his hair and on his body they used something resembling more sandpaper than sponge. It was painful and humiliating and they didn’t care in the least about him. They were harsh and almost brutal when he tried to cover parts for decency’s sake. Nothing was allowed to be covered and it almost hurt. The water was soothing at that point.

Once back in the first room, he was pushed towards the striped clothing and pushed, dragged, pulled into them unceremoniously. To think back to how Remus undressed him or to how he used to tuck his shirt in his pants when they were sleeping so that he would get cold was almost perverse to what he was experiencing now. His hair was a tangled mess and he was moved again now that his body was covered. He received no shoes, or socks, or underwear, just the two pieces of clothing that seemed to drown him in. There was a new man and it had something that resembled a camera, but the old muggle kinds that one had to stand still for minutes in order to be able to take a fucking photo. He was pushed against a wall and told to face the camera.

It took him a few moments to register what was happening and the first thought that came to his mind was that he probably looked like an utter mess. He straightened his back and faced the camera with some of that Black poise that he knew how to play with for his advantage. Once his eyes rested on his surroundings he was losing it again. At first he screamed and then laughed because he was thinking of appearances in a place like this while he was being taken his mug shot. The camera lit up the room faintly and coldness started to swim around him. At first he felt the temperature change, then he saw James again and he started to scream louder. He was unaware of the presence that had that effect on him because his mind was losing every ounce of sanity it had left and Remus appeared before him, standing in a corner, side turned to him, refusing to look at him. Remus was crying, begging and while he was pushing him away. Remus was pleading for him to stop but he was on top of him and he didn’t stop. It was rough and it tortured him right after it was over and even during the act itself, but his rage needed a release. James was down, at his feet and he was towering above, eyes filled with shock almost looked back at him. His mother hit him clear across the cheek and the ring she wore stung his skin.

They were moving him again. He was wobbly on his feet, uncertain so they struck him to get him to recover. He almost fell from the jolt. They were stairs to climb, too many for his tired feet and not once he leant against the wall, but with another jolt he was moving again. It seemed like forever and he had lost track of steps taken, floors climbed or turns he had been pushed towards. A door opened at last and he was pushed inside. The bars were locked behind him and he was left alone. He was still standing when he heard the screams growing outside of his cell. The three stone walls and the small crack in one of them that had bars on it as well, there was barely any light coming through though as outside it seemed to be twilight even if it was barely twelve in the afternoon. For him it was close to night fall.

The wall behind him was steel with a barred door that he could see out of, if he would try, but not much more than the area right in front of it. The temperature changed again and made him even more certain that night would fall shortly. The screams were getting louder and he was unaware whether he was alone on the floor or if the screams came from further away. He looked around the rectangular shaped room and saw something that could only be a bed on the farthest part of the long room, with see through sheets on it and something that couldn’t actually pass for a mattress. The pillow was thin and the cover was barely even there. Around the other corner in the same area, there was a hole. He knew what it was without even getting closer. They wouldn’t actually invest in toilets for the prisoners of Azkaban. There was no paper and no seat, just a hole that probably led somewhere, but too small to crawl out of.

There was wandless magic that he could try in order to blast the small hole and make a bigger one, but just as that thought crossed his mind, the temperature dropped and he fell to the ground. Now it was his screams that echoed through the halls, his throat that stung from the abuse, his eyes that closed as the memories came back, as James and Remus and Lily danced around behind his eyelids, in pain, suffering, dead.


	7. Chapter 7

Another full moon missed. How many times had he told Remus that he’d always be there for them, always be there for him. Another promise he broke but that ceased to be news. After having missed Harry’s birthday, not only once, after having missed Christmas with Remus, the first one they had spent away from each other almost since all those years in school, after having missed forty-seven full moons what was another one? Still, he went to the wall and carved. It was the only thing he could do to count the minutes, hours, weeks, months and years spent in that cage. There were birthdays scratched, full moons and Christmases. On one wall for each so to not be confused and accidentally scratch a birthday where a full moon should go. Harry wasn’t forty-seven years old after all. 

The Dementors were leaving him be lately, occasional visits only, but they would get to him in seconds if necessity arose. He had no idea how they could be so close and affect him so little, but he was always affected by them, he just couldn’t tell the difference anymore. They were all around him, like his pain, feeding on his pain every day and every second. He couldn’t shut off the pain so they sucked him dry of it only giving him more reasons to lose his mind.

It was like he couldn’t focus on anything but the bad stuff, couldn’t bring his mind to think of one single happy memory because all of his good memories were tied so closely to the worst memories that he had. It was all connected and he couldn’t unravel the good from the bad, he couldn’t focus on the good as the bad came with it.

Their rasp breathing was within ear shot and they were always there. It was probably that which made the bad memories come when the good ones did, it could be that that linked the two so tightly together. The sight of Remus gasping beneath him would turn into Remus struggling against him unable to get him off. Memories of Harry playing with his toy broomstick would turn into him crying in his crib with Lily’s body next to him. Pranks that gave everyone a reason to laugh around him and James would turn into the last prank he had planned to play on Voldemort and James’ body at his feet. There was no escaping his trail of thoughts and no way to block them out.

There was nothing happy to ease his own suffering, only one single almost forgotten thought that seemed like a heaven, or a mirage in the desert, something he could cling to as a life boat even if it was barely tangible or barely real enough to comprehend. He was innocent. It had been a frame that accused him but he was innocent and nothing could touch that, so he clung to it and let in settle in his heart because he knew he needed something to keep him sane. The Dementors couldn’t touch that because it wasn’t a happy memory or a terrible one, it was an idea and ideas couldn’t be consumed by Dementors.

So he focused on that and it started to become easier to go through the days. The full moons were piling up and covering more and more of the wall, but his mind was slowly getting back to him. Not entirely, not fully, but he could try and, at times succeed, to banish the torturing memories out of his mind. The good memories weren’t as covered with mud as before and he could have a few moments with Remus without the guilt and the sorrow, he could think of that smile for an instant, focus on that scar for a second. He could indulge himself when it seemed desperate to keep going. The Dementors would show up and he’d go back into his safety thought and they would leave him again. For an instant of tender heartwarming memories, he had a safety net to go to if need arose.

The full moons reach a hundred and it broke him. He couldn’t figure out how many years that meant, but the birthdays and the Christmases did. More than seven years by that moment. Their entire time at Hogwarts, his entire influence on how all their lives turned out to be. A hundred moons away from Remus. A hundred moons that Remus had spent alone, in the cold, in the pain and self-hatred. Could Remus possibly know that it had been the same for him, only not just in regards to the full moons, but every other second of his life as well.

This trail of thoughts did not help and so he turned into Padfoot. Padfoot didn’t get lost in thoughts as easily and Padfoot couldn’t be affected by the Dementors. He managed to it a while back and he’d been turning into Padfoot silently in his cell when he knew he was alone. Dementors couldn’t see him as a dog as they had no eyes and the emotions of a dog were too simple to focus on. Food also tasted better and was easier to eat as Padfoot, otherwise he probably would have starved by now. He didn’t spend all the time as Padfoot however, because the temptation was too big and he needed to stay sane. He couldn’t do that in a dog’s mind. There were inspections too that he needed to be a human for. He had to make human sounds every now and then so they would know that he wasn’t dead yet. Not yet, but maybe soon. He had no idea how much more of this he could take.

When the one hundred and thirty sixth full moon passed, he almost messed up the birthdays and the Christmases as eleven years seemed so short a period of time for how long it had seemed to him. He wasn’t Padfoot, unsure if he was even himself anymore and the days seemed to get lost within their ever changing ways. It was dark as always when a light started to shine on the wall that he could see from his cell, through the barred door. Inspections were common and he was used to them by now. It wasn’t something that he could track as they happened far in between and no logic that he could find that could make them quantifiable, so he settled against the stone wall behind him on the floor. He knew not to expect Dementors during inspections so he could breath easily for a few minutes. The air started to get warmer as the light outside of his door advanced towards him. It was the only chance he had to feel remotely normal and he welcomed it every time.

Soon enough, a shadow came closer to his barred up cell and he could see the shape of a man silently walking past him, while only casting one swift glance to him. It was Cornelius Fudge. The man had been working in the Ministry with Magical Catastrophes and Accidents. He had also been present when he had been taken away from the rubble of the London street. Fudge was holding a news paper. That was different, usually inspectors only had files in their hands.

Before he even considered what he was about to do, he spoke up. **”Do you still need that?”** his voice was rasp and sounded like it hadn’t been used in years, which in all honestly was more or less correct. He hadn’t spoken to the other inmates or the wardens or the Dementors. His voice had only been used to scream or mutter to himself during the last eleven years. Fudge looked at him shocked at having been addressed so casually by a prisoner of Azkaban. There was a man on his left that just shrugged his shoulders, look of complete apathy to the situation. Fudge looked back at Sirius. **”I really miss the crossword puzzles and we don’t have a subscription here.”**

The sentence had been uttered in complete understanding and entirely correct, no words mumbled, no letters missed, almost perfect diction and a calm and steady tone. During his visits, Fudge hated the inmates because they were all insane or close to insanity, but Black seemed almost normal, almost like he was chilling in his living room, unbothered by where he actually was or the conditions that surrounded him. With a complete lack of what response he could give Black, Fudge simply handed him the news paper, a Daily Prophet edition that he’d read already or could replace without much trouble as a Minister. 

Sirius didn’t even cross the bars with his hand, but grabbed at the corner of the paper and casually pulled it entirely inside his cell. He started flipping the Daily Prophet to the crosswords section almost instantly and looked up at Fudge. **”A pen or pencil?”**

The question was simple, the answer harsh.

 **”NO!”**

The shout came from Fudge’s accompaniment. The warden that was in charged with walking Fudge around the prison.

Suddenly Sirius fell silent and his gaze faltered to the floor. He sighed and looked at the warden before back at Fudge and giving him a shadow of a smile as a ‘thank you’. Darkness overflowed in a few moments but it wasn’t complete darkness. There was some light coming in from the crack in the wall which served as a window. Sirius moved towards the bed and sat cross legged with his back against the cold stone wall. There was just enough light for him to be able to read the requests, but doing the crossword puzzle would be a pain if he had to remember all the words, with no pen to write them down. He almost threw the paper away as it only granted frustration, but then, at least if he read it, he’d know things from the outside world. That was a two sided blade but he needed something to do and there wasn’t much he could occupy his time with in that cell.

Turning the paper over in his hands, he settled it back to the front page. A good a start as any, after all, that’s how a paper is supposed to be read, the news are organised in such a way by a staff of reporters and redactors, and who was he to change the rules of the game here in his cell. The first article started as follows:

_MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE  
Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw. A delighted Mr Weasley told the Daily Prophet, **"We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a Curse Breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank."** The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend._

There was also a photo of the Weasley family and he instantly recognised Arthur and Molly, both distant cousins, one by marriage, the other a second cousin once removed. There was a warmth in his chest as he looked at their happy faces. At least some of those who had been through the War were capable of having a normal and happy life. His mind went back to Remus, wondering what his life was like now. Was he, not as happy as the people staring back at him, but did he manage to at least have a life, did he moved on from the War? In the photo, the Weasley parents were both huddled together by no less than seven children. If he focused hard enough he could remember six of them, six boys, the last one must have been the girl standing at the front of the photo, close by one of her brothers. He seemed the closest to her in age and he was carrying a rat on his shoulder.

A rat with a finger missing. 

A rat that he knew too well.

Screams echoed through the prison as he crumpled the Prophet down into a ball and started to squeeze it as tightly as he could. Other prisoners started screaming because of his abrupt change in demeanor and Dementors came to see what the commotion was for. Sirius curled up into a ball at the head on his bed, as far away from the door as possible, cradling his head like he did so many times before whenever the Dementors approached, but this time it wasn’t as a form of physical or mental protection, but as a way to protect the current trail of thoughts.

Noises could be heard outside of his cell, the rasp breath of Dementors as they tried to draw nearer to him, the louder voices that made them suddenly vacate his proximity. They had been drawn by the raw emotion he was experiencing, something they hadn’t had been able to pick up in his vicinity for too many years now, the change attracted them, but now they were gone.

Light was present again in the corridor but Sirius failed to notice it. He failed to notice that it was night or that another week had passed because all he could think of when he was awake, when he ate, when he slept was one constant sentence going over and over again like a broken radio. **”He’s at Hogwarts.”** it was like a sound playing on and on again, most nights the other prisoners would hear him, wake him up only to try and shut him up, the mumble however wasn’t loud, but within those walls, even the faintest of sounds travelled. The wardens heard him and they wound up thinking he had finally lost his mind completely, succumbed to insanity altogether.

Inside his cell however, Sirius was sane and he saw things clearly for the first time in what seemed like a hundred years. Pettigrew was alive, he was going to Hogwarts, Harry was at Hogwarts and for what he could tell from that picture that he had ripped out of the Prophet, the boy cradling him could very well be Harry’s age. A Weasley of Harry’s age would certainly make him a Gryffindor and Harry couldn’t be anything else besides a Gryffindor with the blood and parents he had. The rat would almost certainly be sleeping in the same dorm room as Harry and only he knew that.

Explaining was so far from his thought process and he waited for the night to come. For appearances sake he mumbled the same sentence a few time before falling silent at the requests of the other inmates. As morning came, the halls were dark as no windows gave light on the corridor, the Dementors approached his cell at feeding time and, as Padfoot, and from severe malnutrition, his dog frame was very thin. He had no idea if he’ll manage, had no idea if his feet could hold him up and carry him anywhere outside of the prison, much less further, but he had to. There was still a promise that he vowed to keep and a promise that only he knew could make anyone think of Harry’s peril in the proximity of something that looked like a common rat.

The door slid open, but a crack, two bars being distance slightly as food was being pushed onto the floor right besides the crack. He stood still in the back of the cell as he waited. He had to be silent, he had to as inconspicuous as possible. They had to not see him or sense him and Padfoot was better equipped for both reasons. The bowl of food was pushed in through the crack and that’s when he saw his chance. As always, the door didn’t close instantly, in case he wanted something to be taken out of his cell. It happened on occasions, be it vomit or feces or hair, but now none of that came out, but a skinny dog, looking smaller than he actually was because of his incredibly thin frame. He squeezed through the bars and looked from the corner of his eye at the shadow of a Dementor as it loomed over the small hatch. They were about to close the door and he was only half-way through. He pushed himself through it before he heard the cold sound of metal against stone and he melted himself entirely into the wall besides his cell door.

The Dementors moved to the next door and his heart stopped. He was out and they didn’t even notice him. Slowly, he started moving away from the two hooded figures, in the direction opposite to where they were heading, unaware that he was taking the long way around, instead of the more direct path. As he moved silently, his frame not heavy enough to provoke any kind of sound as large but thin paws moved ahead, he took a right, then two lefts, then another right and he was sure he was lost. He had no idea which way to go but he had to keep moving. He climbed some stairs, descended many others, tried to keep away from wardens and thanks to his canine sense of smell he could know when to expect them.

After what seemed like a whole day spent in the corridors of that prison, the air seemed to change ever so slightly. There was more salt in it and less mould. He pushed towards the saltier smell and as it grew in intensity he knew what to expect before he even saw it. It was a window. An opened window. There were no wardens around, but a Dementor in a corner and a camera but no photographer. He could feel his heart starting to beat faster but he forced it to calm down. While Dementors couldn’t sense animals as they sensed humans, Sirius didn’t want to push his luck. With one deep breath he tensed his hind legs, took one last look at the Dementor and charged towards the window before his chance would be gone and a warden would show up. From a distance he saw that he was not on a higher up level as he could hear and even see waves in the distance.

It wasn’t like he could stop and think of the risks because, even if it was the ground floor, the window could still be higher up in the air. He didn’t have the time to consider possible injuries that could occur to a dog from a fall from too high up a window. Sirius just ran, like his life depended on it, because not only his did, but Harry’s as well. He had a purpose, a goal to aim for, a direction to follow. 

In the flash of a lightning he was on the window sill and with one last push of his hind legs, he was on the outside of the prison, the sound of his paws hitting the stone floor lost in the thunder that followed the lightning. There was no time to bask in his surprising success as he started towards the sea immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> used Daily Prophet from: https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/MINISTRY_OF_MAGIC_EMPLOYEE_SCOOPS_GRAND_PRIZE


End file.
